


Lines

by Phineus892



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 05:04:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2138016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phineus892/pseuds/Phineus892
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Al visits his professor on the last day of school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lines

**Author's Note:**

> This is an un-betad work. If you want to beta it, please contact me!

The wood under his hands was mahogany, smooth and rich. This close to it, with his cheek pressed against the cool surface, he could see the grain lines. His fingers slid across the wood, slippery with sweat. How many times had he looked at those lines?

A sharp thrust from behind sent him pitching forward. He exhaled, breath fogging up the table’s surface. A hand clutched at his hair, tugging insistently. The grip at his hip tightened as a warm, hard body leaned over him. His professor’s breath ghosted over his ear, tickling the lobe.

“Al.”

Al scrunched up his eyes, trying not to cry out. He wished his hands weren't so slippery so he could push back harder against the man behind him.

A small cry managed to work itself past his mouth as Draco grazed his prostate. Al hoped there was nobody outside, for his professor’s sake. Their meetings usually took place in the evenings, under the guise of detention or extra-credit projects. Perhaps he shouldn't have come now, when the school was swarming with visitors; then again, perhaps Draco shouldn't have let him in.

Al had knocked on the professor’s door while everyone was getting ready for the Leaving Feast. Draco had answered it, wearing deep purple dress robes, his blonde hair combed and sleek.

“Could I have a word, Professor?”

A group of giggling, third-year girls passed them, oblivious to the look being traded between teacher and student.

“Of course,” Draco had said, stepping aside. There was nothing unusual, after all, about the Head Boy coming to visit his Head of House.

It hadn't taken long for their clothes to come off. Somewhere between Draco’s “All packed?” and Al’s “I’ll be leaving straight after the feast”, Draco's purple dress robes wound up on the floor. Al kept his tie on.

Draco picked it up now and directed the green and silver cloth to Al’s mouth. It was harder to breathe through his nose, but Al bit at the cloth with relish, letting the silk fill his mouth. The smell of fabric under his nose mingled with the scent of sex in the air.

Draco’s thrusts slowed, angling deeper, hitting Al’s prostate with every plunge. His professor’s hands slid over his body, squeezing and plying the flesh. Al moaned, the sound permeating the room. Other sounds swam in and out of his ears — the thump, thump of the table, the sharp crack of Draco’s hand slapping his arse, Draco’s laboured breathing above him.

Beneath the table, a hand closed around Al’s cock. The hand slid and twisted through his pre-come, pulling him closer to orgasm. Al felt the push and pull of Draco’s cock up his arse, heard a rushing in his ears. He cried out as he came, the tie falling from his slack mouth. Behind him, Draco’s thrusts continued until he collapsed on top of Al.

Lying on the table under Draco's weight, Al studied the patterns in the wood beneath his palms. He lifted a finger and traced along the smooth, mahogany lines, committing them to memory. The brush of lips on the back of his neck told him that Draco was awake.

After they dressed, the professor walked him to the door.

“I’ll see you at the feast?” Al asked, turning.

Draco nodded. He was wearing the purple dress robes again, but his hair was messy. Al reached out and raked his fingers through it, smoothing it down.

They looked at each other for a moment and then Al turned and walked out the door. Students and teachers nodded at the Head Boy as he passed. If they noticed the crescent-shaped stains on his tie or the way his fingers traced lines in the air, they didn't say anything.


End file.
